


The Cowboy's Christmas Ball

by jinkandtherebels



Series: Western AU [10]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Christmas, M/M, Western AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21941623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinkandtherebels/pseuds/jinkandtherebels
Summary: It's Christmas in the desert.
Relationships: ItaShi - Relationship, Uchiha Itachi/Uchiha Shisui
Series: Western AU [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/137142
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40
Collections: why im sleep deprived 💖✨





	The Cowboy's Christmas Ball

**Author's Note:**

> Where is this in the timeline? Who knows?? (Probably somewhere between "High Noon" and "But Never Close Enough" is my best guess.) I just know I've had the first half of it sitting in my drafts since like 2016, so...here it is! Hope you enjoy, and Merry Christmas to anyone who celebrates it!! :D

.

If you ask most city folk, they’ll say it doesn’t get that cold in the desert. Doesn’t get cold, doesn’t get bitter, certainly it ain’t gonna snow.

Shisui’s of the opinion that most city folk are dipshits, himself.

He wakes up one morning in December and sees his own breath. His fingers feel like ice and it’s probably weird that the just-a-hair-short-of-frostbite sensation is what makes his heart go ka-thunk and his brain think _Christmas_ , but there you go.

Shisui sits up fast, stuffing his hands under his armpits to try and force some feeling back into them. It ain’t snowing yet—and as the only human dweller of the stable, Shisui’s pretty sure he’d be the first to know—but it’s cold as _balls_ outside.

Shisui’s balls, to be clear. He can’t feel those either.

He’s never owned a pair of gloves in his life, which never feels like a problem until the winter days set in and the skin of his hands starts cracking like he’s a damn oil painting. Shisui knows he’s at least got a long coat lying around somewhere; mostly he sleeps under it on the rare occasion it rains because the stable roof hasn’t been patched since Jesus walked the earth, but it’ll serve him alright in the cold. He used to have a scarf too, until the day Flicker decided it looked enough like hay to be worth nibbling. Truth be told, if Shisui didn’t love the shit out of that horse he would’ve eaten _him_ by now.

He digs the coat out from one of the loose slats in the wall and climbs down the ladder from the loft, his jaw cracking as he tries to fight a yawn. Shisui hates breathing in too much air when it's winter-sharp like this; it makes him feel like the cold is going straight down to his lungs.

Flicker gets fed and a good brushing and then Shisui leaves him to his business. Winter’s coming on fast now, which means Christmas is on the way, and that means Shisui’s got some work to do.

.

The general store is nice enough for what it is. It’s run by the Scarecrow, a pretty shady figure even by this town’s standards—he never seems to leave the place, never takes his nose out of what Shisui’s fairly sure is the only paperback in town, never even looks up when people are paying. But no one steals from the Scarecrow and gets away with it. Even with only one eye the man sees everything, which Shisui learned the hard way; the Scarecrow’s turned him in to the authorities enough times that Shisui figures they’re kinda friends at this point.

Which is how he knows he’ll have what Shisui needs, now that December’s here.

“Hey, Scarecrow,” he says as he walks in.

“You’ve forced me to start keeping my chocolate behind the counter,” the Scarecrow says without looking up. “You should be proud.”

“Ma always said I’d do great things someday,” Shisui replies, leaning on the counter. “But I ain’t here for sweets. You get anything festive from your guy recently?”

The Scarecrow turns a page. He’s gotta have that book memorized by now but Shisui’s not about to judge. “Looking for anything specific?”

“Just the usual suspects. Evergreen, if you got it. Candles. Maybe some popped corn.”

“It’s mostly stale now. I can give you a discount.” He turns another page. “I’ll look in the back later. There might be some evergreen lying around.”

“Whatever you have, long as it’s green,” Shisui says. “I just need lots of it.”

“Of course.” The Scarecrow reaches up to scratch at his hair—it’s gray, too gray for someone his age, but life’s hard out here for everybody. Shisui guesses the Scarecrow’s just had it a bit harder than most.

“Well, thank you kindly,” he says, tipping his hat in the older man’s direction. The Scarecrow operates on his own time and no one else’s, but he’ll have the stuff Shisui needs by Christmas Eve. He’s been in this town long enough to know what it’s for.

He’s halfway to the door when the Scarecrow says, “Sure you don’t need anything else?”

Shisui stops, turning back with his eyebrows raised. “You a fuckin’ mind reader or what, Scarecrow?”

“Well?”

The words are out of his mouth before he thinks about them: “You got any mistletoe?”

He might be imagining things, but he thinks the Scarecrow pauses at that.

“Now that _is_ a change,” he says. “Trying to snare someone special?”

“Do you have the shit or not?” Shisui grumbles, feeling his ears going warm. Fucking Scarecrow, with eyes in the back of his head and everywhere else, it feels like.

Another page turned. “I sold the last of it earlier this morning. I’m sorry, Shisui. You’ll have to rely on your natural charms.”

“That’s all I need,” Shisui says, ignoring the disappointed twist in his stomach. “I’ll be back around soon.”

“Until next time, then.”

.

Anko’s saloon is the next stop. She’s behind the bar as usual but her head draws up sharp as a rattlesnake’s when Shisui walks through the doors.

“You’re a dead man,” she tells him as he plops down on a barstool. Shisui cocks his head.

“Pretty sure I’d’ve noticed that by now.”

She brandishes a filthy cleaning cloth at him. “Wasn’t an observation, Shi. It was a heads-up. You’re gonna be a dead man because I am personally going to kill you.”

“That so?”

Anko is wearing the smile she only ever brings out for Shisui, because he’s special like that. It’s kinda like her hostess smile, only more murderous.

“You know how many folks I’ve had in here today asking to use my stove? Go ahead. Guess.”

Shisui’s trying real hard not to laugh, because laughing at Anko right now is just asking to lose some teeth. “I ain’t any good at numbers, Anko, you know—”

“Six. _Six_ different women sayin’ they need someplace to finish their baking, you’re the only one in town with a bona fide wood-burning stove, Anko, _please_ won’t you let us use your humble home to make pies and shit?” She sets down the glass in her hand almost hard enough to crack it. “You know how long it’s gonna take with that many? They’re gonna need to do it in shifts. Which means I’m not going to get a decent night’s sleep until after Christmas.”

“It’s your own damn fault for bein’ so industrious,” Shisui points out, grinning as he ducks her fist. Anko finally scraped together enough cash to order a new stove out of the Scarecrow’s catalogues last year and it’s been her pride and joy ever since, the only one like it in the whole town. There’s not a whole lot of time for baking out here but around this time of year, yeah, Shisui can see why she’s getting hounded.

“You could always charge,” he suggests. Anko snorts and starts cleaning her glass again.

“You got shit for brains? Half their husbands spend all day in here. They ain’t got that kind of cash.” She sighs. “Guess I’ll be making my vinegar pie for New Year’s instead.”

“And we’ll all miss it at Christmas, t’be sure,” Shisui says, and he thinks he’s done okay at making it sound sincere until Anko gets that violent gleam in her eye again and Shisui slides off the barstool real quick. Anko can mix drinks better than God Himself, but her baking leaves a shitton to be desired. Not that Shisui can talk.

“Well, I’m off,” he says. “I got places to be.” Anko rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, sure you do. Go make someone else wanna drown their sorrows, will you?”

Shisui grins at her and walks backwards through the saloon doors. “You wouldn’t feel near as special if I did.”

.

He makes his customary visit to the whorehouse, makes sure the girls all have some nice ribbons and shit to wear next week, and then Shisui finds himself battling a bitter, snow-flecked wind to get to the sheriff’s office.

There’s a weird second when he first walks in and Shisui’s not sure if anyone’s even there—but then he sees the hat on the desk, and the guy sitting behind it in his habitual slump, and Shisui feels his shoulders loosen some.

“Top of the afternoon, Sheriff.”

Itachi looks up all bleary-like, like he didn’t sleep last night. He probably didn’t. “I am not used to seeing you here without handcuffs.”

“You’re a real laugh riot,” Shisui says, perching himself on the corner of the desk. “Oughta become a traveling entertainer if this whole lawman gig don’t work out.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Itachi mutters, reaching over to rescue his precious paperwork from the threat of Shisui’s ass imprints. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Nothin’ in particular,” Shisui says, shrugging. “You sleep in those clothes?”

Itachi coughs. “I had work to finish last night. It took longer than expected.”

“Uh-huh. And what’s so all-fired important?” There ain’t been a shooting in a while, on account of it being too damn cold for pistols at dawn or any other time, and Shisui’s been behaving himself and his sticky fingers. ‘Tis the season and all.

“I was trying to leave things in order for the deputies.” Itachi sighs, rolling his shoulder back like it’s hurting him. “I want everything to go smoothly next week.”

Shisui’s about to laugh in his face for thinking things in this town are ever gonna go “smoothly” for more than twelve hours at a time, when his brain catches up with the rest of that sentence.

“Next week?” There goes that ka-thunk again. “Someone already told you, huh? Guess they beat me to it.”

Itachi gets a little hairpin wrinkle between his eyebrows. “I am not sure what you mean.”

Shisui blinks. Maybe this’ll be his surprise to give after all.

“The Christmas ball,” he says. “It’s kinda our thing—we do it every year. It’s nothin’ fancy, but a lot of folks bring pies and food and shit. Dress up. Sing, y’know, if you get them drunk enough.”

“A ball,” Itachi repeats, looking like he wants to smile. Shisui finds himself grinning.

“I mean, there’s gonna be dancing for sure. Dunno if it’ll compare to whatever you city folks call a ball, but it’s a good time. You oughta put in an appearance, show the rest you can loosen up some.”

The almost-smile vanishes. Itachi rubs at his forehead. “I am sorry, Shisui. My family—that is, I am expected home. My train leaves on Christmas Eve morning.”

For the second time in a day Shisui’s got this feeling of disappointment like stomach pangs—not real painful, just a pain. To distract himself from thinking about the cause he tries to picture what Fugaku might call a Christmas party. He imagines big echoing hallways and stiff conversation and cringes; an Uchiha family Christmas sounds colder than any winter weather this desert can dish out.

“’Course,” he says when he thinks he can trust himself not to sound bitter. “They’re probably gonna have you trussed up in a suit, huh? Making small talk with bankers and lawyers and shit?”

“Father wants Sasuke to cultivate connections before he takes the bar exam,” Itachi says, sounding about as excited as Shisui would in his place. “So in all likelihood, you are not wrong.”

“Sounds like a real party,” Shisui says, dry as sand. Itachi makes a face like he’s shrugging.

“It is what it is. Everyone has their own holiday traditions.”

 _Yeah, and most of ‘em involve actually having fun_. Shisui doesn’t say it; there’s no point picking this particular fight, and he’s got no right to in the first place, and it’s no fun picking fights around Christmas anyway.

“Guess I’ll leave you to it, then,” is what he does say, sliding off Itachi’s desk and heading for the door. “Watch your eyeballs don’t fall out of your head, all the squinting you’re doin’.”

It’s Itachi’s turn to sound dry. “I will be on my guard.” He hesitates for a second. “Where is this Christmas ball held? I sincerely hope you are not hosting revelries in the saloon. There are not enough deputies in the county.”

Shisui rolls his eyes and rubs his hands together, trying to warm them before he ventures out again. He winces—the cracks in the skin are starting to bleed a little.

“Relax, Sheriff, it’s at my place. Stable’s the only place in town big enough to do anything in, an’ I try to dress it up some.”

“Your—” Itachi is watching him, that hairpin crease back between the eyebrows as he rearranges whatever he was about to say. “It would get cold there in the winter, I would think. In the stable.”

Shisui shrugs. “Is what it is,” he parrots. “Afternoon, Sheriff.”

Itachi nods, distracted-like. Shisui slips quietly out the door.

.

It’s Christmas Eve a week later when Shisui gets back to the stable, snow in his hair and arms full of the stuff he ordered from the Scarecrow, to find that Flicker’s got tinsel braided into his mane. So that’s the first weird thing.

Shisui shrugs it off—people come and go to get their horses, and Flicker doesn’t seem pissed about it or anything—and dumps his armful to take stock of it all. Then it’s time to get to work.

He gets the evergreen up first. The Scarecrow outdid himself this time; the garlands are thick and dark green and they smell amazing. Shisui wraps them around the horses’ stalls and over the rafters, until it starts to feel a little like a forest in the desert. There’s a couple pinecones mixed in and he tries to tuck them into the garland here and there, and it’s not a shop window in the city but damn if it doesn’t look nice when Shisui climbs back down.

Candles next, he decides, and he’s trying to figure out where they can stay lit without maybe accidentally burning his stable down when he notices the small wrapped packet laying on one of the hay bales. And that’s the second weird thing.

Shisui approaches the packet like he would a pissy rattlesnake. He doesn’t exactly get much mail out here, and he wouldn’t put it past some of the asshole kids in town to wrap up some dung or something just to fuck with him. As if he doesn’t spend enough time around horse shit as it is.

But there’s no smell coming out of the wrapping, and when Shisui gets closer he sees fabric poking out of a corner, and then he’s just too curious not to unwrap the whole thing, consequences be damned.

A pair of gloves falls into his hands.

Shisui’s so surprised he almost drops them in the hay, which would be a shame because they’re pretty nice gloves—gray and soft and obviously knitted by hand, not by any of those fancy factory machines.

There’s no note or anything with them, which is the weirdest of the weird things. Shisui sits back and stares at the gloves and racks his brain, trying to think who would put in this much effort for him. Anko’s unquestionably his best friend in town, but something like this is beyond her patience—he’d be surprised if she knows how to do much more than darn a sock.

He wonders if one of the girls at the whorehouse made them, maybe out of thanks for throwing shindigs like this every year. But then why not leave a name?

Then he wonders, uncomfortably, if they’re from a girl who’s sweet on him for some reason. But Shisui likes to think he’s not a total dipshit, likes to think he would’ve noticed if someone was into him enough to go to this much trouble.

 _Maybe it’s a Christmas miracle_ , he thinks, and snorts. Flicker snorts too, the tinsel in his mane glinting in the light through the high windows.

Shisui shakes his head. It’s Christmas Eve and he’s got a helluva lot more work to get done before tomorrow morning; he doesn’t have time to be solving mysteries. Whoever left the packet here will either own up to it or they won’t, and either way there’s nothing Shisui can do to speed that along. If they don’t want to be thanked for the kindness, well, they’ve probably got their reasons.

He does try the gloves on before he gets back to decorating. They’re gloriously warm, a soft barrier between his freezing fingers and the cold, and easy on his cracked skin.

And there’s a scent to them—when Shisui brings a hand to his face he smells it for just a second—that he almost recognizes, but it’s gone with the winter wind before he can pin it down.

.

The church bell rings even earlier than usual, and Shisui wakes up on Christmas morning with a grin on his face.

His nose is still freezing in the cold dawn air—it’s snowing again, he smells it before he can see it—but Shisui slept in his new gloves because why the hell not, and his hands are miraculously still warm. He really hopes his mysterious benefactor comes clean; that way he can thank them for keeping his fingers from going the way of icicles smacked off a roof.

But for now he shoves on pants and boots, vaults out of the loft and slides down the ladder. Feeds an apple to each of the horses and munches on one of his own. It’s the last peace and quiet he’s going to get for the rest of the day, and he’s got to make the most of it.

The sound of the bell dies down and gives way to a few minutes of stillness and silence, which means the sermon is on. The preacher is probably in fine form this morning, Shisui figures, stopping every now and again so their little congregation can sing hymns and carols. He can hear it even from the stable—the sound of a whole lotta voices rising up at once. He hums along to _Silent Night_ as he moves borrowed furniture around.

Shisui’s never been one for sermons—or for churchgoing itself, all honesty—but he does like the singing. _Maybe one of these days I’ll show up for Christmas service_ , he thinks, huffing a laugh. _Now that’d really get people talking_.

He wonders if Itachi is sitting pretty in some fancy church back home. Dressed up in a sharp suit next to his parents and his hellspawn of a baby brother, listening to some other preacher drone on. He wonders if they do carols there too. Somehow he can’t picture Fugaku as the singing type.

The service lets out while he’s still hauling tables around, but that’s fine. There’s a few hours left before people will start showing up in earnest, and Shisui could use a breather before the party starts. He takes one last look around the stable and is pretty pleased with how it all turned out.

Though there’s still one spot in the rafters that looks kinda empty to his eyes. It’d be a perfect spot to hang some mistletoe if he had it, the stupid part of his mind points out, but Shisui shakes his head like an irritated horse until the thought goes away.

.

The world outside goes dark early that night, snow falling thick and fast like it has for days now, but there’s light pouring out of Shisui’s stable.

The tables are covered with food—salt pork and venison, loaves of bread and a huge pot of baked beans, fruit preserves and molasses; nobody has much to spare but everyone brings something for the Christmas ball. Thanks to Anko’s oven they’ve got a whole table of different pies (Anko herself managed to make a dried apple one at the last minute, which Shisui thinks is a vast improvement over the vinegar, but nobody’s asked him), and there’s ale and whiskey enough to go around.

Everyone’s dressed in their Sunday finest; even Shisui swapped out his battered neckerchief for one he saves for special occasions, red as a holly berry. A couple of people have brought out instruments and set up in a corner, playing something cheerful; the Scarecrow, purveyor of the decorations, is perched in the rafters like an overgrown bird, still reading his book; the smell of meat and popped corn fills the air and people are laughing and couples are dancing and it’s everything Shisui wants it to be.

_So then why’s it feel like something’s missing?_

There’s no hearth in the stable but it’s amazing how warm it can get with so many people filling the space. Shisui takes a look around, figures nobody’s drunk enough that they’ll break anything yet, and steps out behind the stable for some fresh air.

The cold fills his lungs, snowy and sharp. Shisui pulls on his gloves, leans back against the outside wall and closes his eyes for a second.

Suddenly there’s that smell again—that scent he noticed on the gloves when he first put them on—and he opens his eyes real fast.

“You are missing your own party,” Itachi says, leaning against the wall beside him.

Shisui gapes. It’s not a great look, but sometimes shit can’t be helped.

“Where’d you come from?” he manages. “Thought you’d be back in the city by now.”

“The snows were too heavy,” Itachi replies. “There was a snowdrift further down the track and the trains couldn’t get through. I came back rather than wait to see if it could be uncovered.”

“Sorry,” Shisui says. “That’s some shitty timing.”

Itachi shrugs. “I will miss seeing my family, of course, but I have already purchased another ticket for the new year. If I am honest, I was not exactly looking forward to ‘making small talk with bankers and lawyers’ all night.”

Shisui’s opening his mouth to respond when there’s a crash from inside the stable, followed by whoops of drunken laughter. Itachi stiffens, his lawman face coming on, and is pushing away from the wall before Shisui grabs his arm and tugs him back.

“Let ‘em have their fun,” he says. “Not like there’s anything valuable in there they could break, anyway.”

Itachi doesn’t answer. His eyes drop to Shisui’s hand on his arm.

Shisui lets go.

“I see you have finally acquired gloves,” Itachi says after a second, his voice light.

“Yeah, I did.” Shisui looks at him sideways. “Been tryin’ to figure out who left them for me, as a matter of fact.”

“Likely someone who didn’t want to see you lose fingers over something that could easily be avoided.”

“That so,” Shisui murmurs.

Itachi’s face is hard to read in the dark. He doesn’t say anything for a minute.

“You are generous to others when you wish to be,” he says at last. “The bacchanal going on inside is proof of that. Is it so hard to imagine that someone might want to be generous to you as well?”

Shisui coughs. His ears are hot, and he doesn’t like the feeling of being wrong-footed.

“Not like I do it for thanks,” he mutters.

“I believe that’s exactly the point,” Itachi says.

He’s smiling a little. There’s something in the expression that Shisui doesn’t know what to do with.

But he doesn’t push it. He figures they’ve got better things to be doing with their night than chatting outside like a couple of old grannies.

“So you coming in or what?” he asks. “Let’s show you how a boomtown does Christmas.”

There’s another crash from inside, followed by more cheers.

“I almost shudder to think,” Itachi says dryly, but the smile stays put.

Shisui throws an arm around his shoulders—fuck it, it’s Christmas, everyone’s acting a little friendlier than usual—and pulls him toward the stable doors, all the light from the candles spilling out into the darkness.

“C’mon, Sheriff, don’t be like that.” He considers. “Though when you’re sayin’ your prayers tonight, better thank the Baby Jesus that Anko ran out of ingredients for her vinegar pie. Just saying.”

Itachi laughs like it’s been surprised out of him, and for once Shisui doesn’t try to shove down the warmth he feels at the sound. He’ll call it his Christmas gift to himself: just for tonight, he’ll leave his stupider thoughts be and enjoy himself like everybody else.

It feels like it’ll be easier to do that, all of a sudden.

.

(It ends up taking a year and some, during which all hell breaks loose, before Shisui bucks up and buys the damn mistletoe.

By then he’s learning he’s allowed to kiss Itachi when he wants to—which is all the damn time, by the way—long as they’re not in public. And if anyone asks he can always say the mistletoe is just one more decoration for the ball, though one or two people would know better.

He hangs it up in the rafters of the rebuilt stable on Christmas Eve and tries not to feel like too much of an idiot.

He still kinda feels like an idiot. But Shisui’s also learning that being someone’s lover means you can get away with stupid shit sometimes, and hopefully Itachi won’t laugh at him too much.

As it turns out, Itachi doesn’t laugh at all—just makes sure the door is closed all the way before he takes Shisui’s face in his hands and kisses him slow.

And maybe this is the kinda thing that can’t exist outside of these four walls, and maybe that same stupid part of Shisui wonders what it’d be like if they could dance the floor tonight, same as the rest, but that’s fine. Shisui hums _Silent Night_ under his breath as they sway under the rafters, and he doesn’t need gloves or anything else to feel warm.)


End file.
